


Just Take My Hand, Together We Can Do It

by destielsdessert



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crying, Depressed Newt, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielsdessert/pseuds/destielsdessert
Summary: Newt's sat on the slanted roof, knees pulled close to his chest, arms crossed over his knees and chin resting on his crossed arms. He looks deep in thought, brow furrowed, and Thomas has seen that expression too many times to know that they aren't good thoughts.





	1. Hold On, I Promise It'll Be Alright

"Newt, where's my- Newt?"

Thomas freezes in the doorway, staring into Newt's room. His jaw clenches. The house is silent; Minho is out, and because Thomas hasn't seen Newt at all in a few hours, he'd figured that the boy had holed himself up in his room - Newt does that sometimes. But the room is empty; Newt isn't here.

Thomas cocks his head, thinking. The house is too quiet, even with it just being the two of them here, and now that Thomas has realised he doesn't actually know Newt's whereabouts, there's an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

He's probably overreacting, though. Newt's probably in the kitchen (even though Thomas has just been in there and Newt was nowhere to be seen), or maybe he's in the bathroom. But Thomas knows he isn't, and he feels his fingers begin to fiddle with each other as nerves begin to fill him.

Actually, now that he's beginning to think about it, Thomas realises that Newt has been acting off all day. He and Minho had been in the kitchen that morning, and Newt had stumbled in, clearly exhausted, and headed straight to make a cup of coffee. It had been as if he hadn't been aware that Thomas and Minho were there because he hadn't said a word, just made his coffee and stumbled back out again.

Thomas doesn't like seeing Newt like this, so low-spirited and depressed. When Thomas would find him in the early hours of the morning, skulking in the darkness of the kitchen, so sleep-deprived that he looks half-dead. The things he says in those moments; he completely opens up, and the things he talks about, sometimes, terrify Thomas. Newt doesn't normally talk about his feelings, doesn't like to burden other people with his problems (despite how many times Thomas has told him that he wants Newt to talk to him, that he _isn't_ a burden), so Thomas likes to take advantage of those rare situations, and he'll _listen_ because it's what Newt needs, even if the boy denies it.

But sometimes Newt says frightening things. Sometimes he talks like he doesn't have any hopes left, like all happiness is drained from him, and it terrifies Thomas. But then Newt's fine the next day, and he's happier than he's ever been and Thomas almost forgets about those late night conversations.

Almost.

But not now. Now, all Thomas can think about is how Newt can spend days on end in a trance, barely speaking a word to anyone and how, sometimes, they won't even notice. They'll put it down to Newt's crankiness, and Thomas and Minho will just give him space because it's what they think he needs but it _isn't_ and Thomas knows that but if he tries to talk to Newt, Newt will push him away and Thomas can't handle Newt being angry at him. So he leaves him alone, because, sometimes, he doesn't know how to help. Newt is stubborn; Thomas has tried to push him to accept comfort, to just let Thomas hug him until he falls asleep because _Newt, you look shucking exhausted, man_ but Newt won't listen.

He never listens.

And now Thomas is worried, because Newt has gone somewhere and Thomas doesn't know where and he's _scared_. He's actually scared because Newt isn't himself right now and Thomas knows the thoughts that go around in Newt's head, knows what that boy will think about when he's alone and feeling like this and Thomas needs to find him _right now_.

"Newt?" he calls out, aimed into the hallway. He glances around inside the room one more time, searching for any clues about where Newt could have gone.

There's no answer; Thomas tries not to let it get to him. He's definitely overreacting, Newt does this sometimes. Sometimes, he needs space, and he hides away from everyone else.

But where? Thomas doesn't understand _where_ Newt has gone.

He steps out of the room, frowning at the silence. Shoving his hands inside his pockets to hide the fact that they're shaking, he makes his way down the hallway, glancing into each room he passes, but Newt isn't anywhere.

Thomas soon reaches the door to the attic, and he's about to walk away when he notices it's open. He goes to close it, but then he realises that the door is _never_ open, so why is it open now? His heart feels heavy when he pushes the door open more and climbs the stairs, and glances around the attic. Still no sign of Newt, but Thomas's stomach drops when he notices the window. It's open.

Newt is on the roof.

Thomas takes a deep breath to calm himself. There's probably a reasonable explanation for this. Except, there isn't, because how can there be a reasonable explanation for _being on the roof of a house_?!

His hands shake, even inside his pockets, and he closes in on the window, desperate for Newt to not be there and for this to all just be a coincidence, and for Newt to just be safe inside the house because if this is really happening, Thomas doesn't think he'll be able to handle it.

He pokes his head out of the window, glancing to his left, and then to his right, and he's pretty sure his heart stops.

Newt's sat on the slanted roof, knees pulled close to his chest, arms crossed over his knees and chin resting on his crossed arms. He looks deep in thought, brow furrowed, and Thomas has seen that expression too many times to know that they aren't good thoughts.

Newt hasn't noticed his presence yet, so Thomas takes this chance to climb onto the roof. He hoists himself up through the window, and onto the slanted roof. Thomas doesn't dare look down; he's not the biggest fan of heights, especially not where there's a chance someone can actually fall. His foot slips underneath him slightly and he inhales sharply, composing himself and regaining his balance.

Newt glimpses to his left momentarily, finally noticing that Thomas is here, but quickly turns his attention back to the view in front of him (which, Thomas thinks, is nothing special; it's just streets and houses and a few trees - plus, it's nighttime so it's dark out - there's not much to look at). Thomas sits down, quite far from Newt but he's giving him space because the air is heavy and Thomas is actually terrified right now because why the hell is Newt on the roof?

"Hey," Thomas whispers, voice shaky even though he tries to hide it. Newt's gaze drops, but he doesn't reply so Thomas presses further. "You okay?"

No reply.

Thomas isn't surprised; he expected this. But, this time, he's going to make Newt talk, or at least he's going to get him off of this damn roof because Thomas is terrified that, right now, Newt is contemplating whether or not he wants to jump.

Thomas shuffles closer to Newt, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from his body. It's now that Thomas realises how cold it is, the chill of the night's air sending shivers up his spine. He wonders how long Newt has been out here; the boy's in a t-shirt, he must be freezing. Thomas can see that Newt's trembling, goosebumps formed on his pale arms.

Newt doesn't seem to be paying attention to Thomas's presence, continuing to stare out into the night's sky. There are tears glistening in his eyes, and the boy looks seconds away from a breakdown, but Thomas guesses he's holding it in because he's there, too. He wants so desperately to just pull Newt close and let him cry; he doesn't even have to talk, but he has to let all of these emotions out somehow.

But after they get off the roof. After Newt is safe.

"What are you thinking about?" Thomas asks, not really expecting an answer.

Newt sighs deeply, tightening his grip on his knees. "Everything."

Thomas stares for a few seconds. As always, Newt's answers are short, and don't explain much, but it's a good sign; at least he's saying something. "Do you have to think about everything up here?" he questions, and he means it to sound slightly amusing but the tremble in his voice gives away his nerves.

Newt stiffens, and Thomas sees his jaw clench. Thomas doesn't want to push him, but he has to. One wrong move, one wrong word and Newt could fall (or worse, _jump_ ). "You wouldn't understand," the blond mumbles.

Frowning, Thomas angles his body so he can look at Newt more easily, the possibility of falling not even a care anymore. "Then help me understand, Newt," he says, pleading.

Newt shoots him a glare. "Just leave me alone, Tommy." Thomas watches Newt stare at the ground for a minute, looking contemplative, and it does nothing to ease the nerves within him. "I don't want you here. Go away."

Normally, Thomas would oblige. He'd give Newt a little time to himself, time to cool off but he can't right now. He can't leave him alone. Can't risk it. "I can't, Newt," he says, eyes full of guilt. "You know I can't. I know what you'll try to do."

Newt moves away from Thomas, closer to the edge (it takes everything within Thomas not to just grab the boy right then and there). "You don't know _anything_!" Newt shouts, and Thomas can see that he's seconds away from letting the tears fall.

"Newt-"

"Stop!" Newt yells. "Stop pretending that you understand, that you care! I can't- Tommy, I can't handle this anymore." The tears fall, and Newt's crying, and Thomas's heart is breaking and he's close to crying as well. "Just _go away_. Let me do this on my own."

Thomas's eyes widen, and his mouth opens and closes for a few seconds, no sound coming out. "I- _what_? Newt, are you _insane_? I'm not- don't you shucking dare tell me that you expect me to let you _jump_!"

Newt wipes at his eyes, looking away from Thomas. "It's not your bloody choice," he whispers, voice broken and scared.

Thomas shuffles closer, carefully, so there's very little space between them. He could pull Newt tightly into his arms from here. "I can't lose you, Newt. Please, _please_ don't do this." Thomas inhales deeply - shakily. "I won't let you do this. Newt, you don't deserve this, you deserve-"

"I can't deal with any of this any more!" Newt cries, and he's full on sobbing now. "Tommy, please let me go, let me-"

"Don't you dare say it," Thomas growls, angry, but Newt doesn't falter. "I will not let you die. I won't let you do this to yourself." Newt hesitates, and Thomas takes this opportunity to continue. "What about Minho, huh? Can you really do this to him? He won't be able to handle it, Newt, you know that."

Newt shakes his head. "He'll be better off without me."

"You can't honestly believe that," Thomas begs. How can Newt think that they'd be better of without him? They _need_ him; Newt's the glue that keeps them together, the reason they're all still together.

"I do," Newt whimpers, and the break in his voice tells Thomas that there's no doubt in Newt's mind about this. He really believes it. "Both of you - you'll be better off without me."

Now it's Thomas's turn to whimper, and he wants to _scream_ because Newt does not deserve to think like this. Like he's not good enough for them, like he shouldn't be here. "I need you. I need you to _stay_ , Newt, _please_ don't leave me." He leans forward, closer to Newt. "We can help you, we _will_ help you, _please_ -"

Thomas is crying now, too, and now he's wondering where the hell Minho is because he needs to get his ass back home _right now_ and help him.

"You can't," Newt says, voice so calm despite the falling tears. "I'm sorry, Tommy."

Newt stands, and Thomas's heart literally _stops_ , because this is _happening_ , he can't let this happen, he has to _stop_ this. Newt takes a step away from Thomas, and he loses his balance, and Thomas cries out _no!_ before he - stupidly - grabs Newt's arm, trying to pull him back.

But it doesn't work; instead, they both fall.


	2. If I Could Turn Back Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is all his buggin' fault. It's always his fault. Why did he have to go and shuck it all up? He should've listened to Thomas, went back inside with him, or at least he should have succeeded in killing himself better. Should've forced Thomas to leave, to go back inside, because then this wouldn't have happened; Thomas wouldn't be lying half-dead on the ground in front of him.

Everything feels fuzzy. It's silent, there's no noise, and Newt feels cold. He's freezing, and he groans, but it's quickly followed by a loud cough as he tries to breathe.

His eyes open slowly, expecting to have to adjust to bright lights, but it's dark. His eyebrows furrow, and he blinks, staring up into what appears to be the night sky. 

That's when the pain begins.

He realises that his leg is throbbing, and he whimpers. His head is pounding, chest burning and _everything hurts_. He wants to cry out but he can barely breathe - he's panicking. He closes his eyes again, trying to take a deep breath and calm down because he needs to figure out what's going on.

Then it all comes back to him.

The roof, the fall, Thomas.

 _Tommy_.

Newt's eyes fly back open, and he sits up, crying out at the pain that shoots through him but he doesn't care; he needs to find Thomas. He looks around desperately, noticing Thomas lying a few metres away.

He isn't moving.

Tears brim his eyes. He shuffles closer to Thomas, every tiny movement making him want to _scream_ in pain. But he keeps moving. Has to.

When he reaches Thomas, the first thing Newt does is lean his head down to hear if Thomas is breathing. After a few seconds, Newt is sure he can hear shallow breathing. He thinks.

But Thomas isn't in good shape. There's a huge gash on his forehead and it's bleeding a _lot_ , and Newt wants so badly to just pull Thomas close, wait until he wakes up. He doesn't, though, knows that he shouldn't move him because it could just make things worse.

Instead, he screams for help, as loud as his throat will let him (which, admittedly, isn't that loud but it should be enough for someone to hear him, surely?). He doesn't have his phone, and he knows without even looking that Thomas doesn't have his either. He can't even call for an ambulance. He leans close to Thomas, and now he can't stop the tears. He whimpers, and he can't believe he let this happen, can't believe he could've been so stupid.

This is all his buggin' fault. It's _always_ his fault. Why did he have to go and shuck it all up? He should've listened to Thomas, went back inside with him, or at least he should have succeeded in killing himself better. Should've forced Thomas to leave, to _go back inside_ , because then this wouldn't have happened; Thomas wouldn't be lying half-dead on the ground in front of him.

Newt cries out for help again, voice hoarse, and it follows with a bout of sob-filled coughs. He rests his head on Thomas's chest, crying and sniffling and begging, "Don't you die on me, Tommy. Don't you _bloody_ dare."

There are people around him now, and they're not paramedics. They're strangers, and they're asking him what happened, but he can't answer. He can only shield Thomas from them, and he thinks he manages to scream at them to _call a shucking ambulance!_ They keep trying to come close but he won't let them, won't let them touch Thomas or himself. They need to go away, just call the ambulance and _go away_.

Thomas still isn't awake. He's barely breathing now, and his head is still bleeding and Newt can't breathe any more. Thomas is dying right in front of him, he's dying and it's all Newt's fault. He was a selfish bastard and now look what's happened.

The people have stepped away now, apparently understanding that they aren't needed, aren't wanted. Newt raises his head, lifting his hand to brush gently at Thomas's fringe, and he mumbles, "You'll be okay, Tommy, I promise." He hiccups, whimpering. "I'm so sorry, Tommy. I'm so bloody sorry that I did this to you."

There are sirens, and they're getting closer - the ambulance is on its way. Newt, reluctantly, pulls away from Thomas, tears still streaming. He shuffles back, ready to give them space because he knows they'll need it. The bright blue lights of the vehicles blind him, and he shields his eyes, taking this time to wipe his tears.

Then there are more people. They're the paramedics this time, and immediately two of them are with Thomas. But two of them come over to Newt. They try to talk to him, asking him _what happened?_ and _where does it hurt?_ But Newt doesn't like this; they should all be with Thomas. _Thomas_ is the one who needs help, who _deserves_ it.

Not Newt.

So when they try to touch him, to check for injuries, he actually _screams_ to push them away. He shoves at their hands and he sobs. They need to be with Thomas, look after Thomas. Leave Newt to die because he does not deserve to be here.

But they keep trying to touch him and they're talking too loudly and Newt's head hurts. He's dizzy, and he can't breathe and they need to just _go away_. He begs for them to _please, leave me alone_. 

"Newt? What the hell happened?!"

It's Minho, and Newt's heart shatters. He cries, and he wants to curl up but as soon as he tries to move his leg he yelps and he screams because it _hurts so shucking much_. And he can hear arguing, and he's pretty sure Minho is kneeling right in front of him but Newt's got his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to open them because he needs them to go away.

"Newt?" Minho says to him, voice a half-shout. "Listen to me, ya shank. Let them help you."

But as soon as Minho says that, Newt harshly pulls away, adamantly shaking his head and he sobs because they need to look after Thomas. 

There's more talking and Newt doesn't hear a word because he's got his hands shoved over his ears. He feels like a child, but no one is listening to him. Why does no one ever listen to him? If they just did what he wanted, everything would turn out better.

Why didn't Thomas just listen?

Minho is next to him again, and Newt faintly hears, "Sorry, buddy," before there's a sharp prick on his upper arm.

Newt groans, confused, and he opens his eyes, searching for answers to what the hell just happened. He sees one of the paramedics putting away a needle, and then Newt realises; they've bloody sedated him.

He glares at Minho, who looks guilty enough, but very quickly Newt's eyes begin to droop. He feels weird, dizzy, disoriented. His eyesight is fuzzy, blurry as if he's gone days without sleep, and he groans again but it comes out weak. He _feels_ weak, feels wrong, and he wants it to stop. Minho wraps his arm around Newt's shoulders, guiding him to lie down and it feels all tingly - Newt feels numb.

Sleepily, he looks up at Minho. "Min..." he whispers, but that's all that manages to come out before he succumbs to the darkness.


	3. And All I Could Feel Was This Aching In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt peeks an eye open, but he's met with a blinding white light and quickly shuts it again, groaning. Pain throbs behind his eyes, headache worsening and it feels like his brain is about to burst. God, why do the lights have to be so bright? Can't someone turn them off? But he can't keep his eyes shut forever, so, bracing himself, he opens them both, blinking to try to get used to the light.
> 
> His eyes water, though, and it still hurts, but he soon adjusts, realising that the brightness is mainly coming from the pearl-white walls. He blinks, confused, but quickly realises; he's in the hospital.

Voices sound all around him, but Newt can't pinpoint an exact location. His eyes feel heavy, too heavy to open, and his head hurts. A  _lot_. It's pounding, he can feel his pulse throbbing in his brain and he lets out a weak groan, unsure if anyone hears him. He should open his eyes, but he doesn't want to. He's the embodiment of pain right now, everything aches and he just wants to drift back off into the darkness.

A louder voice sounds. It's like someone is calling his name, as if trying to bring him round, but Newt can't talk. His throat is dry, and he's not sure he  _wants_  to talk. He just wants to sleep.

"Newt?" the voice sounds again, closer this time, louder and clearer. Newt knows he recognises the voice, and he tries to pinpoint who it is. "Come on, buddy, wake up."

There's something warm on his face, like a hand or something, and it strokes his cheek. Newt, pathetically, tries to push against the feeling. It's soft, comforting, and he manages to let out a small whine.

"Open your eyes," the voice says, and the hand moves away.

Newt peeks an eye open, but he's met with a blinding white light and quickly shuts it again, groaning. Pain throbs behind his eyes, headache worsening and it feels like his brain is about to burst. God, why do the lights have to be so bright? Can't someone turn them off? But he can't keep his eyes shut forever, so, bracing himself, he opens them both, blinking to try to get used to the light.

His eyes water, though, and it still hurts, but he soon adjusts, realising that the brightness is mainly coming from the pearl-white walls. He blinks, confused, but quickly realises; he's in the hospital.

He looks to his left, and he sees Minho, who's smiling gently, eyes glistening. Newt swallows, throat dry, and for some reason he can't quite remember why he's here. He knows that he knows, and he's racking his brain for some sort of explanation but he can't remember, and his head is hurting and he  _can't think_.

"Hey," Minho whispers, and his voice is so quiet that it eases the pounding inside Newt's head just a little. "How are you feeling?"

Newt blinks again, looking up at Minho. He swears he's experiencing some form of déjà vu or something because he remembers looking at Minho like this. Lying down, staring up at Minho, exhaustion filling him and  _everything_   _hurting_.

Then Newt realises; he  _does_  remember this.

He remembers this because it has already happened. And he remembers why he's here.

Minho continues to stare at him, expecting an answer, but Newt can't breathe. He can't breathe because Thomas was dying and it was his fault and Thomas could be dead and it would be all Newt's fault and he can't handle that. He can't handle that he'd been so bloody selfish, that he'd let this happen to  _Thomas_ , of all people. 

"Newt?" Minho asks, and he sounds worried but Newt doesn't care. He doesn't deserve Minho's concern, because as soon as Minho finds out what happened, he'll hate him. He'll hate Newt, and Newt will deserve it because he shucked up, he messed  _everything_  up and he deserves all the pain and suffering in the world, he  _wants_  all the pain and suffering in the world because he did this. 

Everything is his fault. It's always his fault.

" _Newt_. Dude,  _breathe_ ," Minho urges, and Newt realises that he can't. His throat is dry, chest tight and he's wheezing, and he knows that this is a panic attack. He's panicking and it's making the pain worse, and he whimpers but he deserves this. Deserves the pain.

Minho puts a firm hand on Newt's shoulder but it makes Newt yelp and he freaks out. He tries to scramble away from Minho because he's not Thomas, only Thomas is allowed to see Newt like this, allowed to  _help_ , and because Newt does not deserve Minho's comfort. But something has a hold of his leg, trapping him and he can't move and he can hear Minho telling him to  _breathe, dammit_ , but Newt isn't sure he  _can_.

And now he's crying, chest spasming and he's sobbing and he wants to see Thomas, to know that he's okay, to know that Newt hasn't  _killed_  him. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and he's beginning to feel light headed, like he's going to pass out. And Minho is yelling at him, trying to get him to focus but Newt is dizzy, and he feels like he's going to throw up. His stomach is twisting, head spinning and he doesn't think he's even inhaling any air anymore.

Minho is yelling again, but not at Newt. Newt is pretty sure he's yelling for help, and he wants to tell Minho to  _stop_ , to just leave him be, but he can't quite get the words out. He chokes out a strangled cry, whimpering and wheezing and Minho's hand is back on his shoulder. Newt flinches, and again he tries to back away but he fails miserably because there's something pushing him flat down onto the bed, immobilising him and Newt yelps, struggling and screaming because he  _can't move_  and someone else is here and they need to  _go away_.

But then there's that familiar sleepy feeling, and his fingertips tingle and his panicking subsides and he knows they're sedating him again. He doesn't care, though, because it means the pain is going to stop and he gets to forget for a while.

So, lazily, he lets his eyes slip shut without a struggle.

***

The next time Newt wakes up, he's a lot more tired and a lot less stressed. The pain isn't as intense - mostly, he just feels numb, but he's used to that.

He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the light again more easily than last time now that the headache has mostly subsided. He breathes deeply. He can remember everything, and he can feel the panic bubbling in his chest but he pushes it down; another panic attack won't help anyone, and he's usually good at masking his feelings. Now shouldn't be any different.

He looks around. His leg is in a cast, which explains why he couldn't move earlier, but he doesn't seem to have any other broken bones. Not that that makes him feel any better; he doesn't deserve to get away from this with just a broken leg.

Very quickly, he notices Minho. Minho is fast asleep, arms crossed on the edge of the hospital bed and his head is resting on his arms. He's breathing steadily, and Newt begins to wonder how long he's been there. How long Minho has been waiting, how long Thomas can have been dead for.

Newt unintentionally whimpers at that thought, and it makes Minho stir, mumbling incoherent words as his eyes slowly flutter open. Newt freezes, staring blankly as Minho wakes up, momentarily taking in his surrounding as he lifts his head, glancing around before his gaze stops on Newt. Newt's eyes are wide, and he doesn't move at all, and Minho does exactly the same. He's probably too scared to move, fearing a repeat of earlier, and, honestly, Newt doesn't really want that either.

Finally, Minho takes a deep breath and says something. "Hey," he whispers. Newt swallows, doesn't reply. "How are you?"

Again, Newt doesn't reply. Doesn't need to, because Minho probably knows the answer already.

Minho's gaze drops, and he bites his lip. He looks nervous, as if he isn't sure what to say, and Newt doesn't blame him. Doesn't think he'd want to see one of his friends in the position he'd found himself in earlier.

"Where's Thomas?" Newt finally asks after a few minutes of silence. He's terrified of the answer, just waiting for Minho to say, _I'm sorry, Newt, he's dead_.

Minho glances back up, frowning slightly. "They had to take him in for surgery," he explains, surprising Newt because that doesn't quite sound like 'he's dead'. "He was in there for a while, came out a few hours ago. Been in Intensive Care since."

Newt feels like he can breathe again, finally. Thomas isn't dead.

At least, not yet.

Intensive Care isn't the best scenario, but at least it gives Thomas a fighting chance. A chance to survive. It's more than Newt ever did.

"They don't know when he'll wake up, or  _if_ ," Minho continues. While he's talking, Newt pushes himself up a little, moving so that he's sitting up a little more, leaning against the pillows. He tries not to to groan at the pain it creates, tries not to make it obvious that he's  _in_  pain because he doesn't want Minho worrying any more than he needs to. "But they think he's got a good chance of recovering. They said they're keeping him medically sedated to give his body a little time to heal, and they'll reduce the sedatives in the next few days." Newt continues to stare, doesn't say anything - doesn't  _want_  to say anything. "But they, um, they said they don't know if there's gonna be any serious damage until he wakes up."

Newt knows what he means. Brain damage. Newt has probably given Thomas brain damage, probably ruined the rest of his life and he hates himself for it.

"Newt, are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Newt tenses, averting his gaze. He stares to his right, away from Minho, and he's definitely acting like a child but he doesn't care. He shakes his head, eyes burning with tears. He can't explain. Won't explain.

"Come on, Newt-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Newt says, and the harshness in his voice, he hopes, lets Minho knows that he's serious. He won't talk.

But apparently Minho doesn't want to listen. He leans forward, closer to Newt, even though Newt still isn't looking at him, still isn't listening. "Newt, I'm going to find out sooner or later. Either you'll tell me, or Thomas will."

Newt barely manages to refrain himself from saying _if he wakes up_.

But he stays completely silent, jaw clenched because he will not explain. He can't talk about it, can't tell Minho that it's his fault that this happened, that Thomas almost died, that Thomas still  _could_  die. Even if he  _wanted_  to explain, he wouldn't be able to. His throat is burning, preventing him from actually getting out the words. But he does manage to mumble, "Get out."

Minho sits back, straighter, looking at Newt with wide eyes. Newt finally turns his head back, glaring at Minho. "What the hell-"

"I said  _get out_!" Newt screams, and he wants to shove at Minho but he knows that if he moves his body will just erupt in pain. So he puts all of the emotion and anger into the shout that he can, and just begs anyone who's listening that it works.

It does. Minho stands abruptly, face red and now he's angry. " _Fine_!" he yells, jaw clenching and he storms out, leaving Newt in silence.

Newt stares at the door, blinking and not moving. He only remembers to breathe when the door finally swings shut, and he comes back into himself. His gaze drops to his hands, lying on the sheet on top of him, and he sighs.

Now that he's alone, Newt can relax a little more, leaning back into the pillows supporting him. Now, there's no one bothering him with questions, searching for answers to things that Newt can't explain. Now, he can cry and think about what he needs to without fear of someone figuring him out, figuring out everything about him, figuring out everything  _wrong_  with him.

Except he can't, because the door opens again and Minho is there, and he stands in the doorway, staring at Newt for a few seconds before he makes his way over, walking as if he has a purpose, and he's coming closer and he looks so serious that Newt has no idea what to think. He just stares, and Minho finally stops at the edge of the bed, mumbling, "Buggin' hell, ya shank," and he wraps his arms around Newt's small frame, bundling him up as gently as he can. For a split second, Newt wants to struggle, to get Minho  _off_  of him but the embrace is so warm and gentle that he can't. He just nuzzles his nose into the crook of Minho's neck and exhales shakily.

"'M sorry," he mumbles, because he  _is_ , he shouldn't have yelled. He just needs Minho to stop asking, Newt will explain when he's ready (even though it's entirely possible that that time will never come).

"Don't be," Minho tells him, tightening his hold but it's still gentle enough that it doesn't hurt and it relaxes Newt, if only just a little. "I won't force you to talk. I do want to know what happened, I really do, but tell me when you're ready."

Newt's close to tears, so he pulls away and shakily inhales. Minho probably has no idea what happened, because, if he did, he'd be forcing Newt to talk about it, to explain everything and tell him why he risked Thomas's life for his  _own selfish wishes_. "It was my fault," Newt says before he can stop himself.

Minho's eyebrows raise, and he takes a step backwards. Newt abruptly shuts his mouth, body freezing, hands clenching as fists beside him. "What do you mean?" Minho questions, clearly confused.

Newt opens his mouth to talk, but he can't form the words. "I- It's just... I didn't-"

"Hey," Minho interrupts, clearly noticing Newt's panic. Newt relaxes slightly, fists easing just a little. "You don't have to explain yet. Don't push yourself." Newt nods slowly, and he can't believe he'd almost ruined everything.

Again.

"Just get some rest," Minho orders, and Newt goes to argue, doesn't want to sleep and miss any news on Thomas, but Minho beats him to it. "I'll wake you up if I hear anything. Promise. Now sleep."

Newt swallows thickly, and he wants to argue, but he  _is_  tired. The numbness has slowly turned into dull aches and it's exhausting just having to put up with the feeling. So he nods, and lies back down. Head resting comfortably on the pillows, he lets his eyes close, drifting back off into the darkness.


	4. And Hate Me Now If It Keeps You Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels like he's dying, like he's about to light on fire and explode, and there's only one thing he can think about: Minho needs to know the truth.

For the next day or so, Newt drifts in and out of consciousness. He's never awake for long enough to become fully aware of his surroundings, but he knows that Minho is there. _Every single time_. Newt's just glad he's never conscious enough to feel guilty about that.

When he finally wakes up properly, he knows something is wrong immediately. His head is _pounding_ , a lot worse than it had been before - which he hadn't thought was possible - and it feels like his heart is pumping lava through his veins. He inhales sharply as he tries to sit up, pain coursing through him, and Minho finally notices that he's awake.

He sends Newt a small smile, whispering, "Hi." It's quiet, but to Newt it's like an explosion in the centre of his brain and he flinches at the noise. "You okay? You don't look so good."

Newt nods, but even the slight movement sends him into a wave of dizziness and he squeezes his eyes shut to regain his composure. "'M fine," he grits out through clenched teeth.

There's something cool on his forehead and he guesses it's Minho's hand. The sensation is soothing and Newt can't help but push against the feeling, whining when Minho pulls his hand away. "Shuck, dude, you're burning up."

Newt wants to argue, doesn't want Minho worrying, but soon his leg is throbbing and his bones feel like razor-blades and he lets out a small scream despite how much he tries to hold it in. Minho jumps back, and then he's gone. Newt tries to call him back but all that comes out is a loud groan and he tries to breathe deeply. His lungs are burning, chest heaving, tears glistening in his eyes.

Minho's back again, this time with two doctors but Newt doesn't pay the doctor's any attention. He feels like he's dying, like he's about to light on fire and explode, and there's only one thing he can think about: Minho needs to know the truth. "Minho," he mumbles, voice low and pained.

Minho shakes his head, shushing him. "Don't try to talk."

Newt cries out in pain, thrashing because _everything burns_ and then he's being pushed flat onto the bed. "Listen to me!" he begs. Minho _has_ to know what happened.

"Newt-"

" _Shut up_!" Newt tries to breathe, to fight against the doctor's hold. He needs to explain, before it's too late. Minho _deserves_ to know the truth. "It was my fault!" he sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks. If Minho says anything, Newt doesn't hear him because everything is dizzy and it's all spinning in his head and he can't focus on anything except the pain and _telling Minho_. He screams when the doctors press gently at his abdomen, then his leg. "I jumped! I jumped and Thomas fell because of _me_ and it was _my fault_ and I'm sorry!"

That's the last thing Newt remembers before he passes out.

***

Honestly, Newt is beginning to hate waking up in this damn hospital room with Minho sat next to his bed. This time, Minho has his head in his hands, fingers tangled in his messy hair. Newt notices a weight on his own face and notices he's wearing an oxygen mask. It's uncomfortable, so he lifts it off, but the movement alerts Minho, whose head snaps up immediately.

"Newt," he breathes, sounding both relieved and pissed off. "You scared the crap outta me." Newt stares down at the bed, anticipating the confrontation about what he'd admitted to before he'd passed out. "Your freaking surgical wound became infected, they've had to give you some buggin' strong antibiotics."

Newt frowns. Surgery? Minho didn't tell him anything about any bloody surgery.

Minho seems to notice Newt's confusion, and his face falls. "Shuck. I didn't get the chance to tell you, did I?" Newt just stares. "You had some internal bleeding from the, uh... from the fall." Newt notices Minho's face fall when he says it. "They took you for surgery as soon as you came in. Said they almost lost you a couple times, but you pulled through. But your wound became infected, so you're gonna be pretty drugged up for the next few days."

Newt nods slowly, still not saying anything. Any minute now, Minho is going to snap and Newt is trying to prepare himself for it.

He hears Minho sigh. "Newt, look at me," he says. Newt shakes his head, fighting back the tears that are threatening to fall. "Come on, Newt. I'm not angry."

"You bloody-well should be," Newt mutters bitterly. His voice is hoarse from lack of use.

"Maybe," Minho agrees, and Newt finally lifts his head to look at him. "I probably should be, if I'm honest. In fact, part of me is so damn pissed that you could even _think_ about doing that to yourself, to _us_." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to calm himself. "But I know that if Thomas was here right now, he'd tell me not to yell, not to flip out like I normally would. He'd say you need us, and our support, not our anger. He's say to stay calm, to tell you that I'm here for you, whatever it is that you need." Minho moves closer to Newt, as close as he can without actually climbing onto the bed. "And he'd be right." Newt shakes his head, ready to argue, but Minho stops him. "Newt, I've spent hours thinking about this. Fighting and arguing won't solve anything. You need my help, and I'm here to give you whatever you need. No matter what."

Newt sniffles, and then he can't stop the tears. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or guilty. Minho doesn't _hate_ him, but that doesn't feel right. Newt doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve Minho's help or forgiveness.

But then Minho is pulling Newt close, into his arms and Newt's hands cling to the back of his shirt like his life depends on it and he cries into Minho's shoulder.

"Shuck, Newt, it's okay," Minho whispers, hands rubbing Newt's back. "It's okay."

Newt's too tired to argue.


	5. Said It's Too Late To Apologise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt tells Minho that he can go home, or at least go find somewhere more comfortable to sit for a while, but Minho just grins and says, "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily."
> 
> And Newt does feel guilty but Minho had been right: he's so drugged up on painkillers and antibiotics that he doesn't dwell on it for long.

The next twenty-four hours are uneventful. Newt's banned from leaving his bed _at all_ , so the only interesting thing that happens is the doctor coming in to check on him every hour. Minho went back to the house to get some books and clothes (and a shower), and the two of them spend most of the time reading. Newt tells Minho that he can go home, or at least go find somewhere more comfortable to sit for a while, but Minho just grins and says, "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily."

And Newt does feel guilty but Minho had been right: he's so drugged up on painkillers and antibiotics that he doesn't dwell on it for long.

He tries his hardest not to think about Thomas, about what happened. It's difficult, and he feels guilty. But he's scared that, if he lets the thoughts in, they'll take over completely. They'll plague his mind, he won't be able to get them out of his head, and he's scared that they'll make him do something stupid (at least, that's how Thomas and Minho would put it).

Minho is amazing, though. Every time he sees that Newt is getting lost in thought, beginning to think about things he doesn't want to think about, he'll stop reading whatever it is he's reading and he'll start a random conversation to distract him. And he won't bring those thoughts up, either, just talks until Newt calms down, forgets.

After a couple of days, though, they're both beginning to become more agitated. His fourth day in hospital, the doctor tells Newt that they might be able to take him off of the antibiotics today, so he'll be able to leave his bed. That would normally be a relief, but where exactly is he supposed to go? His leg is busted, and even sitting up straight sends pain coursing through his abdomen.

Minho's getting stressed, too. He's barely sleeping - and even when he _does_ sleep, it's on an extremely uncomfortable metal chair - and Newt has tried to convince him to go home for the night countless times but Minho refuses every time. Newt knows it's because he's too scared to leave him alone.

That afternoon, Minho is acting weird. Newt notices how Minho keeps sending him these weird, almost worried looks, staring at him when he thinks Newt isn't looking. Newt tries to ignore it but, eventually, he snaps.

"What?!" he yells, hands flying up and Minho jumps so much that his book ends up on the floor.

Minho looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide as he stares open-mouthed. "I don't- um... wh-what do you mean?"

Newt breathes in deeply and sends Minho a small, calm smile. "You're a bloody terrible lair. You know that, right?"

Minho drops his gaze, sighing. He lifts his hand to his hair, brushing his fingers through the dark locks. "Sorry. I just... I got thinking," he mumbles. Newt stares expectantly, awaiting an explanation. "You know how the doctor said that they might be taking you off the antibiotics?"

Newt nods, frowning, eyebrows furrowed. He has no idea where this is going, but the way Minho is acting tells him that he's probably not going to like it.

"Well, he said that that means that you'll be able to leave your bed, this room," he continues. He lifts his gaze, eyes locking with Newt's. "So I thought... well, I thought that you might- I don't know, that maybe you'd want to go visit Thomas?"

Newt's face falls. Minho sounds unsure, and he knows why. There's _no way_ he's even going to consider going into that room. He won't do it.

"No," he says immediately, voice full, adamant that he isn't going anywhere near Thomas's room.

Minho sits forward, leaning closer. "Newt, please just-"

"I said I'm not bloody doing it!" Newt yells. His hands are trembling so he clenches them into fists on his lap. Minho falters, dropping his gaze slightly. "I'm sorry," Newt continues, voice softer now and Minho looks back up at him. "But, Min, I can't go into that room. It's just... it's too much." He hopes that Minho understands.

Eventually, Minho nods and Newt feels a wave of relief wash through him. "Alright, okay," he agrees with a sad smile. "I hear ya, Newt. But it's always an option, for if you ever change your mind."

Newt won't ever change his mind. He can't go into that room and look at Thomas lying in that bed. He can't look at what he did to him, his own best friend.

He thinks it might kill him. 

Minho is still staring at him, but Newt doesn't want to talk any more. He lays himself down, relaxing and turning away from Minho as much as he can, hoping that Minho gets the message. When he hears a sigh, he knows that he's succeeded so he lets his eyes slip shut and waits for the darkness to envelop him.


	6. I Sit And Think Of All I Done To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a few hours, he's going to lose Thomas. For good. The person he cares about in this world, whom he's known for longer than anybody else, and Newt's going to lose him forever.
> 
> And it's his own fault.

Minho isn't there the next time Newt wakes up. Logically, Newt knows there's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation; maybe he's gone to the bathroom, or maybe he just needed to step outside for a while - being confined in a hospital room isn't exactly fun. But Newt can't help but wonder _if_ Minho is going to come back, if maybe he's given up on Newt and decided to focus solely on Thomas instead.

Newt wouldn't blame him.

Just as Newt is managing to convince himself that Minho definitely isn't coming back, the door opens and Minho slowly walks back in. Minho makes it halfway towards his chair before he freezes, noticing Newt staring at him.

Minho smiles sheepishly, but Newt can tell he's nervous about something. "Sorry about that," Minho says, sitting down. "The doctor wanted to talk to me. About Thomas."

Newt tenses up immediately, knows this is risky territory to delve into. But he has to know what the doctor had to say, in case something happened to Thomas, in case something's gone wrong. "What did he say?" he asks, terrified of the answer.

Minho's small smile transforms into a grin, making Newt's heart race in his chest with the anticipation. "They're reducing his sedatives," he explains, "to see if he's gonna wake up naturally or not."

Newt doesn't know how to react, how to feel. Thomas could wake up. _Today_. And Newt should be ecstatic and he _is_ , but he's afraid that there's going to be damage from the fall that won't surface until Thomas is awake. Damage that _Newt_ caused. And Newt isn't ready for Thomas to wake up because Thomas is going to _hate_ him. There's no doubt about it.

"What about..." Newt begins, but he chokes on his words. He swallows, trying to compose himself. "What about brain damage?" His voice is quiet and he feels sick just saying the words. HIs fault. It's _all_ his fault. "When will they know?"

Even Minho's grin drops, his face paling. "They'll do tests once he's awake," he says, frowning. "Test his movement, speech, memory."

Newt's eyes slip shut and he can feel the tears burning them, but he refuses to let them fall. He doesn't deserve to cry, doesn't have the right to feel upset because _he_ caused all of this and they all know it. Willing the tears away, Newt opens his eyes again, keeping his gaze trained on his lap. "Did they say when?" he mumbles, and he's not exactly excited for the answer.

Minho slowly shakes his head. "No. They just said 'later today'. Gave me time to bring you up to speed. But I'm guessing it'll be within the next few hours."

Newt sighs deeply, trying to stop his hands from trembling. This means that, in a few hours, he's going to lose Thomas. For good. The person he cares about in this world, whom he's known for longer than anybody else, and Newt's going to lose him _forever_.

And it's his own fault.

"I'm still not going in there."

"Newt-"

"Just," Newt interrupts, running a hand over his face, " _stop_ , okay? It's not gonna bloody happen. Just leave it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Minho close his eyes, taking a deep, solemn breath. "Okay," he says, and he sounds agitated and angry but Newt can tell he's trying to cover it up, to stay calm. "Yeah, okay, fine. Whatever."

Then he's getting up and he's leaving the room, just like that. Newt stares as the door swings shut, stomach twisting with guilt because Minho doesn't need all of this put on him, shouldn't have to be dealing with this. This entire situation isn't fair on him, or on Thomas, and it's _Newt_ who's done this to them and he hates himself for it.

He sinks back into the bed, blinking back tears. It's not like he wants to avoid Thomas, but he knows he won't be able to handle being near him. It'll be too much. Besides, it's not like he _deserves_ to see Thomas, to be _anywhere near_ him. He's lost his best friend, and he just needs to accept that.

Part of him _does_ accept that, accepts that he shucked everything up. But part of him isn't ready to lose Thomas. Sure, Thomas is probably going to hate him, but that part of him is desperate to believe that maybe, _maybe_ , Thomas won't. Maybe it'll all work itself out and it'll all be okay. Maybe they can just live happily ever after, together and _perfect_.

It's a pity happily ever afters don't exist.


End file.
